THE MAGIC HOUR  a sonnet of art and age

Stare not at the Sun, we’re oft reminded,
But in the Magic Hour, as the Poets tell
Eyes can gaze and be not blinded–
The day’s work’s done, for good or ill.

The Farmer comes home from the field,
The Baker from the baking;
The Vintner casks the final yield,
The Maker ceases making…

The Magic Hour, the Artist cherishes–
The Hour of rosy-golden light–
The Hour as the daylight perishes,
Before the final fall of night…

The last bird sings, his song transcending
All labors and trials of the day that’s ending.

CL Redding 2006

Join the Conversation


Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

%d bloggers like this: